From my heart to Tony’s, written in a fleeting moment

Some nights, love asks nothing more than presence, no elaborate plans, no perfect words, just two people daring to speak from the rawest part of themselves. One night, Tony and I sat together in the quiet, trading poems the way others might pass bread across the table. Nothing polished, nothing prepared, just whatever the heart could serve in the moment.

It felt like cooking without a recipe: you reach for what you have, you trust your instincts, and somehow the dish becomes nourishing, not because it is perfect, but because it is yours.

That night, I wrote this:

If Love Were a Dream

If love were a dream, impossible to reach,
and soulmates a divination others preach,
both of them myths I could never believe
there is something you would not conceive.

I found him, unexpectedly, in my life,
a truth that cut sharper than any knife.
Unethical, some may whisper, some may start
yet I gave him my soul, my life, my heart.

And should he depart, I would fall apart,
an empty vessel, a silent carcass
not for the lack of a beating heart,
but for the absence of him.

Like a dish savored in candlelight, this poem is not about perfection. It is about the fleeting taste of connection; the reminder that sometimes love arrives uninvited, messy, and wholly unexpected… and that is where its beauty lies.

What words would you serve if you had just one night to put love into language?